


642 Things To Write About - Sherlock Edition

by Catcraful



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Family, Family Fluff, Feelings, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Parentlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catcraful/pseuds/Catcraful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking the 642 Prompts from the book "642 Things To Write About" and giving them a Sherlock-Twist! </p><p>Main pairings Johnlock and Mystrade, may differ from chapter to chapter. Some of them may be very short, some way too long. You know how it goes ;)</p><p>Tags will be added accordingly! ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What can happen in a second?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets kisses and kind of not copes... at first.

A violin string snaps.

John's gun kills the cabbie.

An eyeball explodes in the microwave.

Sherlock deduces who killed the firefighter.

Mrs. Hudson spills her tea. 

Graham eats half a donut down at the station.

 

All of these things can happen within a second. But what Sherlock did not expect was what happened right this second. In the second or maybe minute or maybe hours after John had pinned him to the wall next to their front door and everything had gone a bit fuzzy in Sherlock's brain. John was kissing him. So intensely. So thoroughly. Just so very very lovingly. And right in this second, Sherlock was the happiest Consulting Detective in the world.

Later when Sherlock lays on the couch, fingers pressed together beneath his chin, his brain finally comes all the way back online and he starts to doubt. Not himself. He’s very sure about himself. And also not about John. He knew since the first day, after all. But what about the work? Will kissing interfere with their work? _Will_ there even be more kissing? Does he _want_ more kissing? Will John eventually grow tired with him?

Okay, maybe he does doubt himself. And maybe he does doubt John. But this is important, so very very important. So if he just spends the rest of the evening and also the night replaying the kiss in his head over and over again, that is perfectly fine.

He emerges out of his mind palace around three in the morning and is surprised to find a soft blanket spread over his legs and torso. When he jumps up and tightens his robe, he automatically takes a step towards his own bedroom, but then freezes and looks over to the stairs. Would John mind…?

 


	2. The long-lost roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John had been roommates at uni but with John going off to join the Army, their ways separate. Now it's time to meet again.

“Sh-Sherlock?” I couldn’t believe what was right in front of my eyes. “Sherlock Holmes!” The man sitting in front of a microscope, back turned to me, straightened and froze briefly before twirling around. His silky black curls whipped through the air and bounced perfectly back into place, a perfect chaos those locks, as usual. It was my turn to freeze as his eyes locked with mine. He breathed my name, barely audible, but there wouldn’t have been any sound in this world that would have sounded louder in my head than this one syllable.

It’s been almost twelve years since I last laid eyes on him but he was still as beautiful as he had ever been. I could still see him standing by the window of our shared dorm room, violin and bow hanging limply from his hands. I remembered what he looked like when he woke up in the morning, hair sticking up and his eyes barely opening. But most of all, I remembered the look of utter shock on his face when I asked him out for the first time. I had finally worked up the nerve to just go over and straight out ask. He was so beautiful back then. So perfect. _We_ were just perfect.

Now that – by pure chance – we met again I silently vowed to myself to never let him go again. To never be such a stupid coward again. I _needed_ to do this right and to get him – my best friend, the love of my life – back. How had I managed to go so long without him? I had invaded bloody Afghanistan and I had never felt as frightened as in this moment.

I shook my hesitancy off and in three quick strides I was back by his side, where I had always belonged. I reached out and stroked one finger along his razor sharp cheekbone. I hoped that I didn’t imagine his leaning into the touch.

“John.” His eyes fluttered closed and the tone of his voice nearly broke my heart. But it also gave me hope.


	3. Imagine you were unable to speak for a month.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full original prompt: "Imagine you were unable to speak for a year. What would you do to communicate, and what impact would it have on your relationships? What would you be saving up to say at the end of the year?" [But a year is way too long, right? ;)]
> 
> Mycroft suffers under the loss of his brother Sherlock. He's holed himself up in his study in the Diogenes Club and so far, nobody's managed to get him out of there.

“It’s been thirty-five bloody days, Mycroft. Please, for the love of god, come back home with me.” Mycroft stays silent. Mycroft is always silent, has been since his baby brother decided to end his life and throw himself down from the roof of St. Barts. I am at a loss, I want him to talk so badly. “Or just say something. Please. Just one word.” I’ve tried pleading, I’ve tried shouting at him, negotiating and even threatening. Nothing. He didn’t even so much as blink at me. All he ever does is sitting in his private study (where speaking is very much not forbidden!) and staring into the fireplace. He barely eats, his drinks are alcoholic and the bags under his eyes a dark purple from lack of sleep.

I kneel down in front of him and place my hands on top of his, squeezing lightly. “Please, Myc. Please. I need you. Please.” My voice breaks, I am so exhausted. When he finally looks up at me, there are tears in his eyes. He sighs, turning his hands over to grasp mine and squeeze them. He gets up out of his chair and pulls me over to the couch where he pushes me down and motions me to lay on my back. I do as – silently – asked before he lowers himself down on top of me. We’re usually not that tactile, even though we’ve been a couple for over a year now. But this, being pressed together, sharing the pain not only mentally but also in a way bodily, this lifts a weight off my chest.

I can live with this. It’s still no talking, but now I know that he at least appreciates me being here.

When he finally starts talking, it’s long gone dark outside. Unlike him, I spend most nights back home in a bed that feels too big without him. But tonight, I’m happy that I hadn’t moved from my spot underneath him. He tells me everything. Everything he knows about, everything he has deduced about Sherlock’s suicide. In the beginning, his voice is raw from misuse and when the sun has reemerged over the horizon, it is raw from overuse. I don’t think I have ever heard my partner talk this much.

When I think he’s finished and talked himself empty he clears his throat once again. “The day was supposed to matter. I--- I had it all planned in my head. I had deduced the perfect day and then… then, Sherlock destroyed my plan. And when I heard about what had happened my first thought had been that Sherlock had once again destroyed my plans. And my second thought had been that I should hate myself because I prioritized you over my brother.” He draws in a deep breath. It is not shaky, but I can still hear his distress and anger.

“What did you plan love?” My hands never falter in stroking his back soothingly.

He looks into my eyes, the tears have long gone but his gaze is tender, loving even. “I don’t think that I’ll be able to face all of this without you, Gregory. And I can only imagine my state right now hadn’t you been so persistent in the last month. I love you; I value you over most other people in my life, if not over all of them. And I would be most honored if you were willing to spend the rest of your life by my side.”

The kiss we share after his proposal is the first one in over a week and I have never been this relieved to feel Mycroft’s lips against mine. “Yes. As long as you’ll have me… yes.” He gets up, grabs my hand and pulls me over to the coat stand. He leaves this room for the first time in 35 days and won’t enter it again in over a week.

After a hearty breakfast of beans on toast at our kitchen table back home, we head up for a shared shower and then go to sleep in our bed, arm in arm, pale skin against mine and for the first time in the last five weeks, I’m able to breathe freely again.


	4. Wisdom you learned from your child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it takes for John to learn about the importance of Sherlock Holmes in their life, is his daughter learning how to talk.
> 
> Taking place after TFP

John loved Rosie. She reminded him of something, that once was, that he would never have again and that he was afraid to forget. She was such a happy little girl, too! Once they had moved back into the reerected flat in 221B Baker Street, she started sleeping through the night. This might have been due to Sherlock's soothing music that magically started up whenever it was time for her to go to sleep and whenever she or John woke up from night terrors. Who knew. Everything became so much easier once they were truly home. John wasn't on his own anymore, Mrs Hudson was happy to help, cook and babysit all the time.

And Sherlock. God, Sherlock was with him again and John felt like it was better than ever. At first, he feared that Sherlock might distance himself from Rosie, that he wouldn't know what to do with her. But he was so good with her. He soothed her, he fed her, he taught her things. He was even comfortable with being on his own with her, for example whenever John went out to get groceries. John felt blessed. 

And Rosie seemed to be quite taken by Sherlock as well. Her whole face lighted up whever she laid eyes on him. And whenever he rattled down his deductions to her, it looked like she really listened to him. 

 

John was happy. He felt truly happy for the first time in what felt like years. And it probably was. He was actually looking forward to watching Rosie grow up, to learn everything she wants to know and become a beatuiful, smart girl. But what he didn't expect was to be taught quite a few things by his daughter as well.

 

* * *

  

When Rosie first started to talk shortly after her first birthday, John spent endless hours trying to teach her to call him 'daddy'. He would have been fine with any version, honestly. He even tried 'dada' and 'paps' with her. Sherlock always had a snarky, albeit friendly remark at the ready, not tiring of telling him that 'John' would probably be much easier for her to learn. So when he had to leave for a two day seminar with the Met about new techniques in autopsy, he was quite pleased with himself, because he had made her say 'da' over breakfast. He was sad to leave, but he knew that his little family (Mrs. Hudson's words, honestly!) would be fine.

When he returned a little over 48 hours later, Rosie excitedly exclaimed 'Dada! Dada!' as soon as she laid eyes on him. The broad smiles on both his and Sherlock's face were nothing compared to their expressions of utter shock a few hours later. Sherlock was sitting at his desk, studying his microscope intensively, when little miss Watson made her way over to him and held herself upright  by his morning robe. She patted his leg with one of her favorite books, obviously wanting him to read it to her. When this did not capture the detective's attention, she grew a little frustrated. Casting a quick glance over to her dada, making sure that he was going to hear her, she put on her most adorable pout, patted Sherlock's leg again and called out 'papa!' 

John's favorite mug broke when it hit the floor, spilling tea everywhere. Sherlock ruined a perfectly fine specimen by breaking its slide. And Rosie? She was quite pleased with herself. She let herself fall backwards onto her little bum and waited patiently for her papa to pick her up and carry her over to the sofa, where they would shortly be joined by her dada and look through her books. And if they all sat a bit more closely together than usual, nobody would mention this.

 

Yes, Rosie taught her fathers quite a bit throughout her life, and maybe the most important lesson was one of the first ones: Between the three of them, they would always have a family that they could rely on. 


End file.
